


Snow upon Snow: The Tale of a Good King and his Wild Love

by sourirs



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Historical, Fairy Tale Retellings, Folklore, Full Shift Werewolves, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mythical Beings & Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21681877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sourirs/pseuds/sourirs
Summary: So focused was king Derek upon the beast that he did not see the boy until it was far too late. Until the boy had seen him, had seen his fangs, his brow bone. The claws at the end of his fingers. He startled, standing up straight as the boy smiled in wonder.“It’s true-“ the boy breathed, hidden behind a tree and holding his arm to his chest. Derek caught his eyes, warm and honeyed, the pink flush splattered along his cheeks and the magic that clung to him.-Or a retelling of a quiet king falling in love with a magic Child of the Forest, reimagined with Derek and Stiles respectively.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 27
Kudos: 305





	1. In the Bleak Mid-Winter

**Author's Note:**

> It's winter! Happy holidays! Here is the cumulation of an absolutely obesession I've had for weeks with old English folklore and fair tale
> 
> (to the sound of spongebag squarepants)  
> Whoooooooooo has a story that they should update  
> SU DOES SU DOES  
> Who's posting a one shot and gonna be late  
> SU IS SU IS
> 
> -  
> Also it must be noted that the terms and mythology surrounding children of the forest has been taken directly from the fic [I'll Be a Moonsbreath By Your Side](https://archiveofourown.org/works/891173?view_full_work=true) by awkwardturtle.
> 
> I'm sorry, I was reading a very old English folk story and decided the only way I could continue with life is if I retold said folk story with Derek and Stiles as the main characters. I hope you enjoy this whimsical wintery retelling, and let me know if you enjoyed it! xoxo
> 
> PS. This is completely finished, there's another two chapters that I'll be posting over the next two days. Or I might just panic and post them all, who knows.
> 
> Su xx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles are taken from the 19th-Century poem [In the Bleak Midwinter](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/53216/in-the-bleak-midwinter) by Christina Rossetti. 
> 
> If you care to listen whilst you read I recommend [Visions of Gideon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IDgR3FNlsUM) by Sufjan Stevens.

King Derek's kingdom was an odd kingdom, as it always had been. The wolves, native to their mountains, howled often, and seemed to howl from the very grounds behind their castle. Their knights were undefeated and their king- Their king, gruff and handsome, was the most secretive of them all. Across his land, the snow had fallen to a crisp, almost impenetrable layer. His people were prepping for the festivities, slow oil burning lamps lighting up the faces of the children, the market stalls that were bustling. The harvest had been good the months before. They would be safe and secure. And yet King Derek did not leave his castle to visit them. He had not since he ascended and nor would he ever. 

King Derek was a good king, wise and fair. Stoic and firm. His people loved him though they know not what they loved. Their king was a closed book, he disappeared for a few nights of every month, hiding his features with his crown and helmet during courtroom sessions, and rarely ventured from his lonely castle. Most everyone had their suspicions, from the bakers boy down by the markets, to the gruff old fisherman in the western docks. _Moon-child_ , they called their king, with awe and reverence in their voices. There was something uncanny about him, all agreed on that, something not quite human about their king. And King Derek, good and fair as he was, believed to the depths of his lonely soul that his people would burn him to the ground with the truth of what made him not quite human. Just as the Argent Warriors of the East had done to his mothers kingdom. 

It was why he was still staring, utterly gobsmacked, at the messenger girl, with dirt smeared across her face, who had burst in the throne room during his session, screaming “ _Wolf!_ ” at the top of her little voice.

It was always somewhat noisy in the throne room, the advisors his uncle had appointed making enough pomp to distract the public from the generally very inhuman energy that Derek seemed to always exude. But the bustle and chatter dimmed, gasps colouring the air as all the courts nobles turned to glare at the intruder.

King Derek’s stomach had plunged to the very depths of his deep dark soul and he glanced behind her, waiting for the mob, for the pitchforks and the silver swords-

“Please, king,” she continued, begging and sprawling over the line that Derek had always made sure was thoroughly maintained. He was worried after-all, anyone could see the red glint in his eyes from this close, anyone could know the secrets of their tragic royal family, anyone could burn him to the ground for _witchcraft_.

Sir Boyd immediately stepped toward her, a rustle of metal- And she turned her bright eyes and unruly golden hair on him.

“Take another step and the Children of the Forest will forever know that their king condemned them to a vicious beast,” she hissed, with such a venom that Boyd froze. Beast, wolf- Not- Not _him._

Derek felt his shoulders sag in relief and he stood up quietly, shrugging off the furs that ceremony forced him to wear. His pack- his knights of the round table - immediately bowed their heads to him. A show of submission and respect his people did not understand but were in awe of all the same.

“Tell me what ails the Children of the Forest,” King Derek spoke and the court, finally, was silent. His voice was soft but it commanded an authority, just as his mothers once an age ago had done. He had been told he was a natural leader, his divine right notwithstanding; his voice carried and flowed over everyone in the room. He spoke when necessary, opting to observe most of the time, hence when he did speak, it was a revered and unique occasion. 

He didn’t gulp under the overwhelming pressure like he wanted to, instead he steeled his resolve and tensed his jaw, throwing up his hand to stop his uncle from attempting to remove the girl and walked down the steps to crouch in front of her bent form.

She focused her eyes on him, the magic around her sparking in her panic, visible of course only to the mystic of them. To the rest of the court she was just a forest girl, the odd bunch who refused to venture into the town and wore clothes of rags with twigs and flowers in their hair.

The Children of the Forest were as sacred to Hale land as the Hale’s themselves. But they were secret, druids and magic as far as Derek’s limited knowledge served him. His uncle had shrugged when he asked, his parents had died before they could tell him anymore. And the Hales had gone into disguise with the threat of hunters. Talia had always, always, wanted to _fix_ their relationship, to welcome the children-

Derek had failed on so many levels to live up to the monarch she had been.

The girl let out a shaking breath, then seemed to purge the words from her lips, the fear in her eyes gripping his heart as tightly as the vines that creeped along his castle walls and refusing to let go.

Derek would help, of course he would. It had been decided before he fully processed her words. 

“Feral-“ She said. Derek’s eyes flashed and she did not flinch.

“-Bloody footprints-“ She breathed. Derek drew himself up to his full height and she didn’t move.

“Help,” she begged.

Derek reached for the sword that hung on the cobbled wall behind his throne, for King Derek was a good and fair king, and the girl let out a shaking relieved breath. 


	2. Frosty Wind Made Moan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles are taken from the 19th-Century poem [In the Bleak Midwinter](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/53216/in-the-bleak-midwinter) by Christina Rossetti. 
> 
> If you care to listen whilst you read I recommend [ Lonely Man of Winter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rvF_5_PbUPc) by Sufjan Steven's and Melissa Mary Ahern.

The snow, beautiful and achingly white, bit against his skin as he tracked through the winding path from the castle down. He nodded his head as best he could to the excited shouts of his name, the townspeople clamouring out the their doors and out of cobbled streets to catch sight of their king. Handsome and strong, they whispered. And Derek’s ears fed him lies of their fabricated hatred. He closed the cloak around him tighter and picked up the pace.

The girl- ‘Erica, milord’- had ran ahead of him, footsteps sure and as light as a sprite, to tell her people that they were not forsaken, that the king of the land would come to their rescue. Derek refused anyone to join him on the quest. Not his pack, not his uncle, not the volunteer knights and good townspeople.

A feral wolf, on his territory, as a king and alpha of his pack was an insult. Something he had to deal with himself.

He reached the outskirts of the town, a great expanse of white ending in the dark dense of the forest. He let his inhibitions go, let his wolf come to the surface for the first time outside of the full moon since he was but a babe. The he reigned in his full shift and used his beta shift to scope out the sounds within that deep dark forest.

He couldn’t hear the children, they were silent to shifters, almost silent to humans, and loud to the nature they were tied to. But he could smell them. The scent of magic was thick, entwining so intricately with the scent of the forest that they were always one and the same. It was a sweet scent, grassy and filled with blossoms and joy. His uncle had once very casually mentioned expanding the civil infrastructure of the capital, to encroach of their lands and displace them. Derek didn’t understand how anyone could smell their magic and take such a stance. He had shot Peter down immediately, one if his very few demonstrations of ultimate power.

He followed the scent until it soured, the rusty, pungent scent of blood dampening the purity of _joy_ and _magic_. The bloody paw prints on the white of the snow was the most bright red he had ever seen. There was nothing brighter than blood on snow.

He felt sick and focused, bypassing the light that signalled the home of the Children and following the paw prints into the untamed part of the forest. He unsheathed his sword and crept slowly, taking note of the foul scent of the beast.

He froze in his tracks at the sight before him. Snarling and heaving black body, bloody chops dripping drool and melting through the snow. Wolf and pure wolf. This creature may have been man once, but he had lost control to mother moon and what stood before Derek was, simply put, a monster.

So focused was he upon the beast that he did not see the boy until it was far too late. Until the boy had seen him, had seen his fangs, his brow bone. The claws at the end of his fingers. He startled, standing up straight as the boy _smiled_ in wonder.

“It’s true-“ the boy breathed, hidden behind a tree and holding his arm to his chest. Derek caught his eyes, warm and honeyed, the pink flush splattered along his cheeks and the _magic_ that clung to him.

A vicious snarl, and the wolf dashed from his sight, crashing through the growth of the bare trees and Derek could almost hear the woods moan.

No time, none to check the boy, none to beg him not to tell his secret- Derek ran after the beast, his sword in his hands. He was fast, faster than the peoples’ king should be, and caught the beast in a clearing.

It swirled round and crouched low, hackles rising with a deep and reverberating growl.

Derek bared his teeth and snarled right back at the beast.

He took first swing - the gleam of his sword catching against the reflection of the white snow- and the beast roared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update 06/12/19 4pm GMT. :)


	3. Snow Had Fallen, Snow on Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles are taken from the 19th-Century poem [In the Bleak Midwinter](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/53216/in-the-bleak-midwinter) by Christina Rossetti. 
> 
> If you care to listen whilst you read I recommend [Enter One](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ypApKTXuOxU) by Sol Seppy. (Any other Final Space fans here lol)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so... they meet :)

Slash after slash of the kings sword, red upon white; their blood splattered. The wolf snarled and hissed and screeched. And King Derek stood firm to fight with all his might.

By the time Derek had felled the creature, his armour, his tunic, his cloak, had been ripped, almost to shreds. He stood, chest heaving, over its mass and regarding the pitiful whining thing before him.

It was lost, not as pure as an animal could be and yet so far from the realm of man that all Derek could do was give it the mercy it was begging for. He bent and, with a final slash of his claws, ceased its laboured breathing

Derek slumped to his knees in the snow, his blunt fingers shaking as he quietly, as clearly as he could remember, etched the runes of sacrifice to Mother moon.

There was a rustle of twigs, a stark noise in the silent white emptiness of the clearing.

“You’re a shifter. And you saved my life.”

Derek jerked, whipping his head round to find the boy- the same, wonderful, _wild_ thing from before - staring at him in unabashed awe.

“I-“ Derek froze, panic seizing his heart.

It dawned on him that the boy had followed him, panting, running just behind him, even though Derek had been chasing a creature of horror, the very beast that had no doubt injured him. He seemed fearless, wild and at one with nature. It would be naive of Derek to assume this boy was truly as young and innocent as he looked, all of the Forest's children were of age, especially those who _reeked_ of magic as this one did.

Before Derek could order him away, before he could think through the fog of the boys sweet scent, he knelt opposite him, dipped his pale fingers in the wolf’s blood and painted its body with even more runes. Derek recognised them as one recognised a faint nostalgia, slowly and with pain. _Safe passage, comfort, afterlife_.

“Hello,” the boy said, grinning at him as the wind whipped his auburn hair to and fro around his head. His left arm was cradled to his chest, and Derek could see that the boy was injured, dripping blood from a gruesome bite.

King Derek was speechless, all manner of tact thrown from the window. For he was a monster, the likes of which no one should be privy to, especially not beautiful Children of the Forest. He had been taught to hide, that his people would never- could never- learn to accept his true nature. He should open his mouth and make up an excuse, anything, to-

“What’s your name?” The boy said and Derek blinked, letting out a breath. Because the boy-

He didn’t know. He didn’t know Derek was king. Derek took a moment to thank his goddess for the unexpected blessing and swallowed.

No one on Hale land could no the truth about their distant king and their rough knights. No one.

“My name... My name is Blackbeard,” he said finally and the boy raised his eyebrows with an infuriating smirk. Derek knew he was lucky that the boy did not question the obvious lie, did no more than snort and continue his work. His facade was weak after all, and he had- Derek had never seen somebody he wanted to _hold_ in his arms so badly before.

King Derek snuck glances to the boy, enchanted. His beauty seemed to strike Derek where his heart would be, gripping vice like.

As pale as the moon above them, as pale as the cream Derek oft preferred with his breakfast, dotted with moles like the very stars around his goddess.

His eyes were large, almost too large for his face, golden like amber mined from their cliffs, or honey drizzled over their pastries, or whisky by the fireplace- His eyelashes were long and thick, sweeping across his sharp cheekbones and Derek couldn’t hear his heart but he watched the rise and fall of his chest, the air steaming in front of his parted pink lips. As pink as the sweetest flesh of their sweetest strawberries. His flush as subtle as the coral of the peaches his kitchen harvested and Derek was certain that if he could just press his lips to the apples of the boys cheeks, they would prove to be so much _sweeter_ than anything he'd ever tasted. 

It was inevitable, really. As Derek sat there, watching the boy work, following the light glow of magic from his fingers and hearing the land sing back to him- King Derek fell in love.

“Well, _Blackbeard_ , you can call me Stiles,” he said and Derek felt the air around them shimmer and swirl. Something important must have happened to the woods, to the forest, for they sighed and swayed with the smattering of snowflakes as Derek stared a little too intensely at Stiles’ face. He looked like a nymph, a woodland sprite, though Derek knew better. Stiles was a Child of the Forest, protectors of the woods and all those who lived within it. Once upon a time the Alpha of land would work alongside the Children, once upon a time the Hale’s and the Children were almost _kin_. One landed on Stiles’ nose, melting from the heat of his body, and Derek resisted the urge to reach out and feel the flush of his skin beneath his fingers.

The boy lifted his hand once their work was done and winced without meaning to, drawing attention to his as yet unattended wound. Derek was by his side in seconds, before he could think about what it was he was doing and how close he was getting to somebody that _was not pack,_ his veins turning as dark as the fur of the beast they’d felled as he cradled the boys arm gently. More of Stiles’ wondrous expression settled on his face but Derek kept his gaze resolutely to the wound, using the powers Mother moon loaned to him to ease the boys pain and heal him, and refused to acknowledge him.

He only looked up when the boys skin was once more unmarred , creamy and soft under Derek's thumb as he gave in to the urge to stroke gently. He let out a sigh, catching those doe-like eyes and-

Derek stood abruptly, gathered his things, and cleared his throat, unsure of how to approach this wild thing that he realised was the most beautiful person he would ever see. The wind thrashed at his back and Derek took a step to steady himself, a step toward the boy. Stiles, _Stiles_ , he grinned and stood slowly from his crouch, in an instant the wind changing course and forcing him to step towards Derek. 

The king took a deep breath in, memorised Stiles' scent - joy, jasmine, rose, grass and _magic -_ and the wind _howled_ with unholy noise until they had no choice but to be pressed against each other, Derek with his hands firmly placed upon Stiles' hips, through the furs and rags of his clothes, and with Stiles nimble long fingers curled in the remnants of his cloak.

Derek watched, enchanted, as Stiles threw his head back and closed his eyes, eyelashes fawning over his cheeks. Listening as the wind and the trees and the very forest seemed to moan and moan. 

"Blackbeard, do you hear?" Stiles asked him, a breathless wisp of a thing that Derek focused on, and when his eyes opened they were an unnatural golden. Bright and sparking in the bleak mid-winter. "Do you understand?"

Derek shook his head. He heard, but he did not understand. The words of the forest were for the Children to understand only. Stiles grinned at him, wild and untamed. Stunning.

"You are _mine_ , I am told."

The wind settled, the leaves falling to the ground eerily. All that there was, was Stiles in his arms, the stars in the sky, the moon reflecting off his pale skin and the blood stark red along his arm. All that there was and that there ever would be was Stiles. 

Derek removed himself from the boys grip, his eyes wide and flitting. For he was scared. King, of this kingdom, he was. King with no desire to every marry, to ever be beholden to anyone who would not and could not understand that though he was king of this kingdom he was a servant of Mother moon, more like the beast beneath them than a man to be wed. 

"I am no-ones," King Derek responded and slipped into his full shift, leaving the boy bewildered and lost as he sprinted out of his forest. 

As he reached the edge, the trees groaned in their disapproval, the snow that had been falling gently bit against his face in harsh gusts. And still Derek ran, through the fields, to the towns edge, shifting to his human skin to continue his running hidden with the shadows of the winding streets and steps of the capital and up to the solitude of his castle. Lonely and isolated as the snow swept around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update 07/12/19 4pm GMT :) x


	4. What can I give him- Give my heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it’s here! The final little bit of this whimsical winter tale :)

For thirteen days and thirteen nights, King Derek was inconsolable, irritable and filled with a rage his subjects, his council, his uncle and his pack simply could not understand.

The townspeople celebrated his victory, the pelt of the beast was paraded through the streets, for the pelt was all that could be found, his name was sung in heroic song. And still their king did not emerge.

He was- The king was heartbroken. Which he raged at, he could not be heartbroken, for he had not given his heart away. He had no heart to give.

And yet, the king stared sullenly through the pillars of his balcony, growled at the members of his pack who dared approach and stayed even more silent than he usually did during council.

The maids of the castle whispered between them, of how the King would be woken up in the morning with his arms clenched tightly around the goose-feather pillows upon his bed.

The cooks remarked with growing concern of how the king could not for the life of him stomach the strawberries and the peaches he had once adored, how the cream was returned untouched.

The knights- The knights spent most of their time in court assuring Derek’s people that the tragic howls they heard from chambers were that of the kings personal dire wolf pets- never mind that those dire wolf simply watched their alpha whine and howl at the moon with an unimpressed glare.

King Derek was missing his wild love, just like his heart seemed to be missing the urge to beat, As though the moon had forsaken her stars.

Then on the fourteenth night, with Sir Boyd and Sir Scott simply refusing the leave his chambers until he washed and trimmed the mass of his beard -despite how roughly Derek growled at them- he heard a voice he wasn’t sure he would ever hear again.

From the very edge of the capital, Stiles, Child of the Forest, stood with his hands around his mouth, letting out a mournful cry of ‘ _Blackbeard!_ ’. A cry that travelled passed the docks, startling the fishermen into dropping their catches, a cry that blew up the skirts of the bakerwomen and almost put out the fires that roared around their dough, a cry that shuffled through the alleyways, making the pickpockets freeze with their fingers clenched tight around coin purse and up, up through the windy streets of the town, startling the people until it burst through the windows and doors of the caslte.

A cry that faintly trickled into the chambers of King Derek and made his entire body alight with joy.

And Stiles, Child of the Forest, ran and ran, following his cry where it wandered to his love. He ignored the shrieks and disapproving muttering of the nobles of the court, until he screeched to a stop at the gated doors of the palace of the King.

“I’m here to see Blackbeard,” the boy said resolutely, his jaw set and hands glowing with magic. The guards looked between themselves, looked upon the boy, of the odd bunch, with clothes of rags and flowers entwined in his hair. And they laughed at him.

“There is no Blackbeard at the kings castle, boy.” The first chortled at him.

“Run along now, wild one,” the second added.

Stiles narrowed his eyes and listened to his cry, to the wind reassuring him that his love was just passed these doors. That the man the woods had destined him to love was just beyond reach.

“He told me,” Stiles said stubbornly, “And I know he is in there. So let me see-“

Meanwhile, the king had gotten up with an urgency none had seen for fourteen days and thirteen nights and all but ran from his humble solitude, down and down, Stiles’ cry echoing in his ears.

He did not think, for the moon was shining brightly, and the wind was at his back, guiding him onwards without so much as a chill or snowflake.

He got to his throne room, ignoring the surprised shouts of his council and pack and-

The doors burst open and in came Stiles, scurrying under the large arms of the guards, and sprinting to their king. To his love.

He slammed into Derek’s chest hard enough to knock him to his back on the ground and sat upon his thighs, gathering the cry and letting it flow back into his body.

“Blackbeard!” He said with such joy, such wonder, that King Derek threw his head back and _laughed._

 _“Stiles,_ Child of the Forest,” King Derek said, his voice soft as he sat up, Stiles perched firmly upon his lap. He did not think of the people watching, for Stiles was here, in his arms once more and he felt warm inside his chest for the first time in the bleak midwinter.

“My mate,” Stiles said, with a determined furrow of his brow and a stubborn set of his jaw.

And how could Derek deny what Stiles had said so sweetly. Who was he to deny what Mother moon and Father Forest had decided for them. Who was he to take the wonder from Stiles’ beautiful face.

“My mate,” Derek repeated oh so softly, “Mate of the king.”

Stiles’ smile lit up his face, lit the lamps in the cold throne room, and lit the wilting ache in Derek’s heart.

He stood and Derek stood with him, cupping his face and placing a gentle kiss upon the peach-blush on his cheeks.

“That’s very sweet, my king, but I’m a Child of the Forest,” Stiles said and pushed his king until he stumbled and fell back into his throne. His knights were unashamedly staring at the smile on their kings face, the nobles of his court frowning in confusion until-

Until Stiles clambered upon his lap, knees tucked either side of Derek’s thighs, grabbed his face and kissed him so passionately square on his lips that Derek lost himself.

Around them the townspeople felt the joy of their king, their confusion turned to bewilderment and- Pride. They cheered for their king, for the Child of the Forest; the kings mate.

When they parted Derek was gazing upon his mate with adoration, hand firmly upon his hip and exuding more emotion than the people had ever seen before. Derek smiled at the gasps and the murmurs, cupping Stiles’ face to kiss him and kiss him and _kiss_ him until the murmurs turned to cheers.

And in years, the people of the odd little kingdom cheered for their Wolf King, Child of Mother Moon, whose strength went unchallenged, whose ability to shift rendered them all enchanted and in reverence, whose magic lent him their loyalty and obedience.

In years, they cheered for their wild King’s Mate, Child of the Forest, who showed them the wonders of their magic, who married the forest with the capital and ended the bleak winter with his love and mischief and _joy_.

And, in even more years, when the kingdom flourished and shifter walked alongside human, when magic was sold alongside the apothecaries in the market stalls, they cheered as the tiny patter of cubs' feet ran amuck in King Derek’s and King’s Mate Stiles throne room, the weak and wobbling little howls of their heirs making them chuckle and cheer ever so fondly.

King Derek, a good and wise king, ruled along side his wild love, Stiles, child of the forest, brilliant and so happily. In years, when Mother moon and Father forest claimed their children, they went with their arms wrapped around each other, smiles alighting their wrinkled faces and surrounded by family, friends, pack and people.

And the tale of the Kingdom’s Wolf King and Magic Mate was told again and again under the midwinter moon to all the cubs and children in the land for generations to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider leaving a comment or kudos, it really brightens up my entire day! x


End file.
